Mirror, Mirror
by The Demon's Song
Summary: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? RanxGin, one-shot.


**Okay, this is my first Bleach fic ever. Have mercy, yosh?**

**Disclaimer Not mine, not going to be, not happy about it.**

There was only one thing Rangiku remembered about her human childhood. One feeble line of poetry—from some fantasy story that she couldn't bother to remember properly.

_Mirror, mirror on the wall..._

There _was_ a mirror on Rangiku's wall, a large gilded one. And, pondering the rhyme, she had drawn a chair up to it. Her finger traced a path on the glassy surface idly.

On any other day, she would have been looking into the mirror for a reason. To make sure her make-up was on right—to choose her clothes—anything other than something serious.

But it was hardly any other day. And this was serious.

_Who is the fairest of them all?_

"Fair," she said quietly, finger leaving slight streaks in its wake. The joint continued to explore the glass in silence.

On any other day, she would be out drinking with friends. Or doing paperwork—the world doesn't stop just because you want it to, Matsumoto, as her white-haired taichou sometimes said. She would be out there with the best of them, happy.

But this was hardly any other day. And she wasn't happy.

She did a good job of hiding it, though. She smiled her fake smile—just like his smile, but for all different reasons—and pretended. Pretended that she didn't care—that she didn't miss him—that she didn't love him.

It worked, mostly. Sometimes Hitsugaya-taichou was able to see through her mask—on a rare occasion, Yumachika even managed it. But she denied everything—a hangover, taichou—this isn't a good week for me, Yumachika, if you know what I mean—and generally got away with it.

The irony of it all was that since he'd left, she had come to understand him more. She was more like him, now, than she had ever been before, and she had come to several realizations.

One, Gin didn't love her. Any feelings he had were just residual, memories of what they had once had. He had loved her as a child, and he had loved her through academy, but that was where it ended.

Two, he didn't break it off with her for a reason. She was his eyes in the shinigami world—the way he checked his image. She told him how others saw him, molded his own perception of himself.

Three, that she had a habit of talking to him as if he could hear—all the way in Hueco Mundo, she somehow still expected him to listen. At the very least, it made her feel better.

And that was what she wanted to do now—feel better. So, as she always did, she stared into the depths of the mirror and spoke.

"Gin," she began. "Gin. I hope you're well—or that you've fallen down a well, damn you. Because I know why you left me here, why you follow Aizen. And being bored is _not_ an excuse, teme." She nearly laughed at that—she had promised herself not to be childish, if he could somehow hear. "But that isn't my point. You've always loved distractions, and you've always run off following them. But this is a first, even for you."

She laughed, then hiccuped. And all at once tears were burning behind her eyes, threatening a massive escape.

She pushed them back—it was hardly the time—and continued. "You've always come back for me, Gin. Always. Especially... well, you know what today is. You gave this day to me, Gin. Please, please don't take it away."

She waited in front of the mirror for a response—or, even better, a glimpse of silver hair somewhere behind her.

There was nothing there.

A muffled sob managed to wrench its way out of her mouth, and the tears once more attempted to revolt. She swallowed deeply, hand resting on the mirror for balance.

"Please," she muttered once more.

The silence that followed was excruciating. She couldn't bare it, really—she had never been able to. But for him, she could wait just one more minute, like she always had.

And, as always, that minute didn't make a single bit of difference.

"Fuck," she managed softly, letting go of her defenses—it was a losing battle anyway.

The tears stung as they left her eyes—armed with bitterness, despair, and anger, all pushed aside until they became weapons against her.

And soon the trickle of stinging, horrible tears became a waterfall, and she had all the more reason to cry because it _hurt_. Her lovely face was red, blotchy, and marred—even the great Matsumoto Rangiku couldn't look good while crying.

In the middle of her despair, she could almost hear Gin's voice. Still, the words were hardly his—that damned story again. _Mirror, mirror, on the wall..._

Even the imagined voice was enough to destroy what little was left of her composure. Rangiku slammed one hand into her mirror, hard—she was not going to pieces over him _again_.

She hadn't expected the mirror to break, and the sudden pain of glass shards impaling themselves on her hand stopped the tears for a moment. A moment.

Which was soon over, as Rangiku screamed in agony and rage and loss.

She collapsed off her chair, folding on the floor like she had as a child. She wrapped her hands around her knees, curling into a ball. If she let go for even a second, she knew that her heart, no longer trapped by her hands, would explode out of her chest. It felt like it had already—like Gin had cut it out with his empty promises and his lying smile.

_Who is the fairest of them all?_

And suddenly everything clicked, and Rangiku's shuddering sobs paused. _That_ was why it hurt so much, then.

She had always pictured herself as Gin's love—if she couldn't make herself believe that, she settled for lover. Friend was a close third—comrade a despairing forth. Confidante, while romantic, was hardly true—true love sounded nice enough, but was even further from reality. Any one of those things was well enough for Rangiku—she could settle for any of those posts.

And yet, after all they had been through, what was she to him?

She told him what others thought of him. She molded his image. She convinced him that he was better than he was—she knew that now. She painted a pretty picture of Ichimaru Gin, and he ate it up.

The story, Rangiku finally remembered, was that a horrible, narcissistic queen spoke each day to her mirror. _Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?_

And always, always, the mirror answered, _You, my queen._

Until, one day, it simply didn't.

How did the mirror know? How did it realize that the queen it clung to was just using it? How did it realize that any feeling it may have had for the queen was just a weapon she would use?

Rangiku's heart slowed from its frantic pace. She straightened up, staring at the shattered mirror.

"If Gin is the queen of my story, then I..."

Her breath faltered, and the tears faded away, leaving behind a terrible numbness. She wasn't his love or his lover, anymore. She was no friend of his, and his comrades now consisted of Aizen, Tousen, and the Arrancar. He never told her anything, and he never truly loved her.

Her hand touched the glassy surface once again. _Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?_

And just like that, the tears started again.

Because even after all that, she was sitting alone on the birthday Gin had _given_ her, and he wasn't there.

Because even after all that, she meant nothing to him.

Because even after all that, she was just his fucking _mirror_.

And there wasn't anything _fair_ about it.

**Did you like it? Because it is one of several—they aren't all this angsty, I promise. **

**If you did like it, drop a review. I want to know what people think before I post my next few one-shots.**

**Review, please, and remember**

**No flames!**


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